


More Than Ever, Everyday

by WednesdayGilfillian



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Engagement, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayGilfillian/pseuds/WednesdayGilfillian
Summary: An engagement fic. Just another version of what happened immediately after the scene on the misty road.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm just dipping my toe into the CtM fandom, though I've loved the programme (especially Turnadette) for years. And I figure there can't be too many fics about what happened after they met on the misty road...? Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

After the chill of the misty countryside, the car felt like a little world all of its own. Patrick had turned up the heater at once, anxious that she be kept warm – and she still wore his coat around her shoulders. Everything inside the car seemed soft and cosy, and yet somehow oddly sharp and bright.

Timothy sat in the backseat, making polite conversation in a way that told Shelagh he was quite well aware of the currents in the air between them. Between her and his father.

“So, are you all better then?”  
“I’m much improved, yes, thank you Timothy.” The giddy warmth in her chest made her carry on, smiling, “I won’t be swimming the Channel just yet, but I should be fit for the next three-legged race.”  
Timothy laughed, and Patrick turned his gaze from the road to fix her with a tender, crooked smile.

The mist had turned into rain by the time they made it back to Poplar. It was decided that they would all have fish and chips back at the Turner’s flat, before Shelagh had to report to her lodgings.  
“Why don’t you go in and buy them, Tim?” Patrick suggested, pulling a handful of coins from his pocket. The boy looked proud and pleased at the honour, grinning as he hurried off.

Patrick shifted in the driver’s seat, turning to face her. The rain was drumming on the roof of the car, and the heater purred gently away. They were…very alone, all of a sudden, and Shelagh’s stomach swooped pleasantly. Patrick wet his lips before he spoke.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought Tim with me. It’s half-term, and, well…”  
“Of course I don’t mind! It’s lovely to see him. It’s lovely to see both of you.”  
Patrick smiled – a slightly sad, honest smile that made her chest ache.  
“I missed you so much.”  
“And I missed you! I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your letters. I couldn’t bring myself even to read them until quite recently. I just…needed time. And prayer, and reflection.”  
Patrick nodded, his expression serious.  
“Of course. And, Shelagh, I want to be clear – I realise you’re going through a change that I can hardly even fathom. And I want to be a help, not a hindrance, or a…pressure. So, if you ever need…more time alone, or, I don’t know…anything…please, do tell me.”  
“Thank you, Patrick” she said, sincerely.

In the following silence, a shy smile slowly grew between them. It seemed ludicrous that she couldn’t think of something to say to this man, having so long yearned for his presence. But it was proving rather hard to think, when he looked at her like that. Patrick chuckled self-deprecatingly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t seem to be at my most articulate. I’m just…astounded that you’re here. And that I’m not dreaming.”  
Shelagh felt the blush rise to her cheeks, and laughed breathlessly.  
“No matter. Your letters were more than articulate enough. They were beautiful.”  
“You’re beautiful.”

Patrick hardly had a moment to look embarrassed at that apparently-involuntary declaration before the backseat door opened, and Timothy leapt in.

“Got them! There was hardly even a queue!”  
He reached to hand a few coins back to his father, hugging the warm paper parcel to his chest. Patrick turned in his seat, quickly pulling himself together.  
“Keep the coins, Tim. Didn’t I owe you half a crown?”  
“I’m surprised you remembered.”  
Shelagh pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

 

Patrick hurried Timothy ahead of him into their flat, calling out instructions to make it tidy.                        
“Honestly, Patrick, don’t fret on my account,” said Shelagh, pausing to take off her coat – well, _Patrick’s_ coat – in the hallway.  
Patrick, she couldn’t help noticing, still had raindrops in his hair.  
“The next time you visit, we’ll have the place tidy,” he insisted, taking the coat and hanging it on a hook. _The next time_ , Shelagh thought, happily.

It really wasn’t so bad – just what she would have expected of the flat of a busy widower and his son. Compared to the sterile formality of the sanatorium, it felt pleasantly lived-in, cosy and compact. Shelagh found herself wanting to drink in every detail.

They all squeezed round the little dining table, Timothy fetching an extra chair for himself and unwrapping the parcel of the fish and chips.  
“Plates and cutlery might’ve been nice!” his father murmured, with a pained expression.  
“Why?” said Tim, honestly bemused.  
“Oh, there’s really no need!” Shelagh popped a chip into her mouth to settle the matter.  
Timothy grinned triumphantly at his father, and Patrick just shook his head, eyes laughing.

Over dinner, they discussed the merits of watercolour painting. (Timothy had been much impressed by the picture she had sent him – it was displayed, pride of place, atop the piano.) They were still chatting happily away when Patrick reluctantly checked his watch.

“What time did you say you have to report to your lodgings?”  
“The landlady said before seven…”  
“Well, as loath as I am to cut this short,” Patrick said with a regretful smile, “I suppose I’d better drive you over there. Timothy, why don’t you get ready for bed, and I’ll pop my head in when I get back. I shouldn’t be too long.”  
“Alright,” the boy shrugged. “Goodnight Sis– um – Miss Mannion.”  
“Goodnight Timothy. Sweet dreams.”

The drive to the boarding house didn’t take long at all; Shelagh had deliberately chosen one close at hand. When they parked, Patrick looked across the street, and then over his shoulder towards the car’s boot.  
“I’ll help you with your cases, up the stairs.”  
“Err, maybe best not… When I phoned ahead, the landlady was rather clear about her policies on…‘gentleman callers’.”  
“Ah…”  
Patrick gave a nod of sympathetic understanding, and Shelagh felt shy laughter bubble up inside her. It was so surreal that the issue of ‘gentleman callers’ should be relevant to _her_. But it was, all of a sudden - because of the beautiful man regarding her from the driver's seat with a smile.

“Well then, I suppose this is goodnight…”  
“I suppose so…”  
Patrick frowned apologetically.  
“I’ll be out on my rounds tomorrow, unfortunately. I sort of skived off today…That is, I asked Doctor Wilson to cover.”  
He looked sheepish, and Shelagh felt impossibly endeared.  
“Anyway, I’ll call you in the evening?”  
“That would be lovely.”

Patrick’s eyes darted from her face to her hands, and after a moment he reached to take her hand in his. Shelagh’s stomach swooped again, and she was rather glad she was sitting down. How did anyone _do_ this? Say goodnight, without turning into a jittery fool?

“Goodnight, Shelagh.”  
He pressed a gallant kiss to her knuckles, and she managed a tremulous smile.  
“Goodnight, Patrick.”

As she crossed the street to the boarding house, Shelagh Mannion might as well have been walking on air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely feedback! I hope you like this chapter too!

Shelagh woke the next morning to sunlight through unfamiliar curtains. There were no brisk nurses barging in to bring her toast, or to check on her condition. There was only the quiet and privacy of her sparsely-furnished room, and the distant clamour of the street below.

Shelagh smiled. There was much she had to do today, and much of it was daunting. But just for a moment, she could let herself luxuriate in her strange new freedom, and the giddy lightness in her chest that had everything to do with Patrick Turner.

She only had the one set of rather out-of-date clothes. That would need to be remedied immediately – but only after she’d called at Nonnatus House.

That meeting was difficult – heartbreakingly difficult – as she had known it would be. Shelagh had never felt so torn, tossed about on waves of conflicting emotion. She _knew_ she was happy – so much happier than she’d ever, ever been – and yet she was also utterly cast adrift.

She came to herself standing on a street corner, tears still drying on her cheeks, and an envelope in her hand. It contained the sum of her little worldly wealth – and though one part of her felt guiltily undeserving, the practical part of her was already calculating how far it might stretch. She would need to pay her board, and buy some new clothes…though obviously nothing extravagant.

 

Hours later, Shelagh couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction as she laid her new purchases out on her bed. The tweed skirt suit was perfectly sensible, but still up-to-date, and she’d picked out a couple of nice, simple blouses. Having _new things_ at all was such a treat. The heels had been the nearest she’d come to an extravagance…but the lady in the shop had almost insisted. They would take some getting used to, that was all.

There was a sharp rap on her bedroom door, and Shelagh jumped. After a moment, the landlady’s head appeared around the door.  
“A call for you, Miss Mannion. From a Doctor Turner.”  
Shelagh’s heart leapt – though she tried not to look too obviously thrilled while the landlady was still present. (She may not have quite succeeded.)

Alone in the hall – or as close to alone as anyone could reasonably hope to be in shared lodgings – Shelagh held the receiver to her ear.  
“Hello?”  
“Hello, Shelagh.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “How was your day?”  
“Oh, it was…busy. I stopped by Nonnatus, and had a meeting with Sister Julienne.”  
The silence on the other end of the line somehow radiated understanding. Patrick, she knew, would wait for her to speak, whatever he may privately feel on the subject.  
“And that was…all as I thought it would be. I’ll never be able to repay all that the Sisters have done for me…but, for now, the procedures have been followed, and I am formally released from my vows.”  
She heard Patrick breathe a soft sigh, and despite an inward thrumming of guilt she managed a  genuine smile.

“And after that I just saw to a few errands in town. How was _your_ day?”  
“Fine,” Patrick replied, and she could hear him grin. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard – Nurse Noakes is now fully recovered, and she’s invited us all to the christening tomorrow. She was very insistent that I pass on the invitation.”

Shelagh smiled, though it caused her a slight pang that she now received news from Nonnatus second-hand. She would have liked to have been there for Chummy, for all of them, during that long and difficult night.

“Oh, that was very kind of her… Well, yes, of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”  
Patrick seemed to pause a moment. She heard him take a breath.  
“And I wondered if, beforehand, you might meet me in the parish hall? In the kitchen? There’s…something I want to ask you.”

His voice was deep and warm, and absolutely serious. Shelagh’s heart stuttered.  
“Oh…”  
Her brain had apparently stopped functioning. _Say something, for goodness sake!_  
“The parish hall? A-at what time?”  
“Nine o’clock, shall we say? If that suits you…”  
“Yes, it does,” Shelagh replied, a little too quickly.  
“Good. Well, I’ll see you then?”  
“Yes…”

“I, uh, hope your lodgings are satisfactory?” Patrick cut in, before she could get to ‘goodnight’.  
“Oh, yes, perfectly.”  
“Good…”  
He didn’t want to hang up, she realised. And though she’d run out of things to say, she didn’t want to either. Just being in his company, even by telephone, felt so…right.

“Well, I suppose I should let you go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
“Yes, nine o’clock. Goodnight.”  
“Goodnight, Shelagh. Sleep well.”

She wasn’t particularly certain that she’d sleep at all.

 

But nine o’clock came, whether or not she felt ready. She’d been up from first light, and by the time she left the boarding house she was reasonably confident that she looked presentable. (Hopefully a little better than presentable.)

Her hand shook just slightly as she quietly opened the door to the parish hall. She felt oddly like a child sneaking off somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be…while, in other ways, she didn’t feel like a child at all.

If she’d had any doubts as to what was happening, she lost them the moment she stepped through the kitchen door. She’d never seen Patrick look quite so dapper, or seen him look at her quite in that way.

The note from Timothy, seeing the words written down, was enough to take her breath away. And the ring…the ring was just the most blessed relief. Patrick had chosen something simple but beautiful, nothing at all ostentatious. He _did_ know her, and the things she considered important.

Patrick looked down at the hand he had just so gallantly kissed, then back up at her face, and Shelagh thought her heart might actually burst.

“I hope this doesn’t seem too soon.” Patrick looked elated as he reached to hold her other hand too, and ran a thumb lightly over her knuckles.  
“I just wanted to make my intentions clear. And…oh, Shelagh, I’m horribly in love with you.”  
Shelagh let out something between a giggle and a sob, and dabbed at her cheeks below her glasses with the back of one hand.  
“Patrick… This is all so…”  
He chuckled sympathetically, and fished a handkerchief from his pocket.

“I’m alright, really,” she insisted, repositioning her glasses and passing the handkerchief back. “More than alright.”  
He grinned down at her, and something inside her quivered. Would he, maybe, kiss her? It hit her suddenly just how much she wanted him to.

“Tim will be just thrilled. As I went out the door he said he’d cross his toes _and_ fingers for good luck.”  
Shelagh laughed. “As if there was any need…”

He smiled down at her, warm delight in his eyes, and for a moment she thought…but he cleared his throat, and stepped away.

“Well, shall we go and pick up Timothy? There’s still plenty of time before the christening.” 

He was giving her space, she realised. Letting her set the pace, and the tone. And it was wonderful of him…but… Well, how _were_ you supposed to communicate, without being terribly forward, that you were perfectly willing to be kissed?

But she’d be an ungrateful wretch to feel disappointed, with Patrick’s hand in hers and his ring on her finger. She would just have to trust, when it came to everything else.

 

Timothy had been waiting on the Turner’s doorstep, all brushed up for the christening in his good clothes. He raised his eyebrows in question when he saw them approach, and when Patrick nodded in confirmation he grinned.

Shelagh couldn’t banish a feeling of trepidation as they approached Nonnatus House. She knew who she was when she was with Patrick, and she knew who she’d been to her sisters and fellow midwives. How could she hope to reconcile the two? What would they think, to see her out of the habit? And so obviously in love with a man?

But of course, they were nothing but good to her. (Somehow, that almost made it worse. Almost, but not quite.) She could see the curiosity behind their studiously calm, polite expressions – but they only asked after her health, warmly, as if that were the only thing that mattered. Of course, it was Trixie who spotted the ring, and commented on it. All the girls agreed that it was ‘perfectly simple and elegant’, and Shelagh felt an odd pang of mixed-up embarrassment and pride. 

The christening itself was lovely, and when it was over they didn’t hurry away. When they did leave, however, Shelagh couldn’t help but feel relief.

 

Patrick and Timothy had tidied the flat for her next visit, as promised. There were even fresh flowers in a vase. Shelagh felt rather bowled over by it all – the obvious effort the two of them were making. (And the adoring looks Patrick kept giving her.) He had just served her tea in what she guessed was the very best china, when there was an urgent rap on the door.

Patrick grimaced, but went to answer the door without hesitation. It wasn’t something that could wait, and he called out an apology as he threw on his coat on the way to the door. Shelagh promised to stay with Timothy, and then Patrick was gone.

“This happens all the time,” Timothy informed her, sagely.  
“Well yes, I expect it does. Your father works very hard.”  
“Hmm.” The boy was silent for a moment. “Are you any good at chess?”

She wasn’t, really. She had been once, but she was much out of practice – and anyway, she couldn’t really want to beat Timothy. The result was very probably the politest game of chess in the world.

They had got through two games of draughts, one of dominoes and another pot of tea by the time Patrick returned. He hurried in with his coat slung over his arm, and Shelagh was reminded of every other time she’d looked up to see him arrive in a flurry. It had always been a quiet thrill – the difference was that, now, she was _allowed_ to feel it.

As they rinsed the tea things in the kitchen, Patrick apologised for his unscheduled absence.  
“Patrick, you don’t need to apologise. I _am_ used to work at unpredictable hours…”  
It was a delicate reminder, and he looked appropriately sheepish.  
“Of course you are. It’s just that I’d wanted to spend the day with you, given what transpired this morning.”  
They both smiled quite stupidly at the memory of his proposal.  
“Well,” Shelagh breathed, “there’ll be other times.”  
“Yes. There will.”

The weather had turned since the morning, and given the time of year the days were drawing in. By the time Patrick drove her back to her lodgings, they were caught in the middle of a sudden evening downpour.

“You said your curfew’s not till eight… We _could_ just sit here till it stops,” he suggested, as they sat parked across the way. It was a joke, and a transparent ploy to spend more time in her company – and Shelagh found herself foolishly charmed. Still, she tried to keep a straight face.  
“There’s no guarantee this will stop before eight, so I don’t think that’s advisable.”  
“Well, I’m not letting you brave it alone – I’ll walk you to the front door, whatever your landlady might think.”  
“I think the front door is generally considered quite acceptable.”  
“Duly noted,” said Patrick, with another dangerously charming smile.

“That light’s on the blink,” he went on more seriously, as though he’d realised that his flirting might be making her uncomfortable. He gestured to the lantern above the boarding house door, which flickered fitfully as though the wiring was faulty.  
“Oh, yes. I think that’s on the landlady’s list of repairs. Quite a long-term list, possibly.”

He smiled across at her, and her heart was suddenly full.  
“Thank you, Patrick, for today. And for…everything.”  
He looked surprised. “Thank _you_! I hope today wasn’t too strange for you, at Nonnatus.”  
Shelagh shook her head. “It was _different_. But I wouldn’t have anything else.”  
He regarded her warmly for a moment, and then reached suddenly for his coat.  
“Well, let’s get this over with!”

It was a mad dash across the street, the rain pelting around them and his coat held up as cover over their heads. By the time they were sheltered again beneath the flickering lantern, they were both laughing and breathless. He was beautiful, his damp hair flopping slightly into his face…and he was staring at her, the smile slowly fading into something else. Shelagh couldn’t, and didn’t want to, look away.

The lantern above them flickered and died.

“Could I kiss you?”  
He spoke so softly that she only just heard him over the rain. It was as though he’d asked the question in spite of himself. She nodded, quite unable to speak.

Patrick’s gaze flickered from her hair, to her face, to her mouth as he drew closer. One hand came up to cup her cheek, and the warm realness of him was overwhelming. Shelagh’s eyes fluttered closed.

When it came, the kiss was soft and eager – just a tender, pliant press of lips. And just from that, Shelagh’s senses reeled. Her cheeks were burning. 

Patrick pulled away from the kiss slowly, and it was a moment before she dared to open her eyes. He was staring down at her, lips slightly parted, an expression not unlike wonder on his face. Beginning to catch her breath, Shelagh managed a nervous, blushing smile. Patrick grinned in apparent relief, his breath coming out all in a rush.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, not trusting herself to say anything more.  
“Goodnight,” he echoed. He waited until she’d almost closed the door to turn and dash back across the street, not even bothering to hold his coat up over his head.

Shelagh closed the door, and leaned against it. She felt the sudden, silly, joyous urge to laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you think! Do leave a comment, if you have time.
> 
> Also, feel free to say hi on Tumblr: @wednesdaygilfillian


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